The Forging of Lightfist
by Saline Dreamer
Summary: The ongoing memoirs of Alliandra, a human Paladin with a checkered past. Her path from a child scarred by Plague and Crusade to a hammer wielding warrior of the Light has not been easy, and she has invited all to listen as she recounts her story.
1. Prologue

_Synopsis:_ An ongoing chronicle of the adventures of Alliandra, a human Paladin with a checkered past.

_Warning/Disclaimer/Other Info:_ A World of Warcraft fanfic, with creative liberties taken to canon storylines and settings. If deviations from the norm disturb you, then I won't mind if you stop here. The game is owned by Blizzard, and no profit is made from this effort. Alli appears from time to time on Khadgar, a US PvE server.

**Prologue**_  
Library, Stormwind Keep  
Stormwind City, Eastern Kingdoms_

Three chimes of distant bells barely penetrate the silence of the Library as I sit in deep contemplation of the blank paper in front of me. The blankness of the paper seems to mock my frustration as I ponder just how to begin this tale of years, one that I know I must set to record before my passing from this world.

Why so morbid, you wonder? Though I am only barely fifty-four years in age, my life shows no sign of becoming any safer. The Alliance of Humans, Night Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes and Draenei still fights its seemingly never-ending struggle against the loose conference of Tauren, Orcs, Trolls, Undead and Blood Elves that calls itself the Horde, and I never know when it might be time for the Alliance Army to call one of its old war-horses up into action again.

For I have seen my fair share of action, and each day has taken its toll. See this long white streak in my hair, the one flaw? If you were to look a mite closer, you would see the beginnings of the scar that stretches from fore to aft along the crown of my skull from where that troll very nearly succeeded in claiming my scalp. Took a true work of the Light to save me from that little dent, and that is only one of the many reasons why you see me here armed with a pen instead of my mace, staring at this damned scrap of paper and wondering where and when to start…

Ah, I can hear Brother Milton clearing his throat at me. Milton Sheaf, the Librarian, is one of the few things that really haven't changed in this place. Milord Anduin Wrynn is no longer a boy-king, but a wise man as many have predicted. He has guided this city through many a tense spot, the experience of years evident in each command decision, but through it all Brother Milton has remained a solid, reassuring presence in the Keep's Library – even though the slightest noise above a cough will merit a firm _ahem_ and The Look over the reading glasses he periodically wears.

He clears his throat again, as if I had not heard him the first time, then aims his measured gaze at the teenaged girl that has just come skittering into the library. She is at the stage of being all awkwardness and elbows, having nearly upended a chair and two stacks of books in her flight into the room, and now stands nervously awaiting my attention. "My lady?"

Now that is something I am not used to either. The same battle that nearly cost me my scalp was the same one that caused His Majesty to see fit to give me a title. A minor noble title, of course, but a title nonetheless. So now I must grow accustomed to the name of Lady Alliandra Lightfist, which is a stretch if I have ever heard one… but I woolgather again, as my friends and colleagues will spare no haste in agreeing that I am guilty of. "My lady, your class is waiting for you," the girl continues unsteadily, blushing and looking away as I fully notice her. She notes my brief abstract look of puzzlement and ventures, "Your Advanced Diplomacy class… or did you forget again?"

_Blast and damn, she's right, _I realize with a wince.I make a mental note to have a good talk with whoever it was that suggested that I teach that class, as it is one I am ill equipped for. After all, diplomacy is mainly tact and patience, and this is one Paladin who thinks that even the Wildhammer gryphons are just a tadge slow. "I'll be right along," I tell my student with a nod, effectively bidding her to vanish. "You will save my spot for me, won't you, Milton?"

The Look is replaced with a small, dry smile as the Librarian nods. "Of course, my lady."

I get up from my seat and push the chair in, and realize with a sigh that the page in front of me is still blank. Oh well. I suppose I shall just have to come back to this later…

_-------_

The sun is now setting over the high walls of Stormwind. My class has come and gone uneventfully, and I am now firmly ensconced in my chair back in the Library. Brother Milton only half-jokingly says that he should take up a collection from my students to have a small metal plate engraved with my name affixed to the chair so that everyone knows that it is my place.

As if they did not know already! I have occupied this seat many a pleasant hour since my return to Stormwind from the war fronts abroad, and now it is only the newest of acolytes that dares to sit here when I am absent. The lamp on the table gutters occasionally, casting eerie shadows here and there in the Library. For the briefest moment I feel a chill, as if I am seeing the forms of friends and enemies long gone. _Damnit, Alli, you're woolgathering again, and it's getting late. At least decide on a title before you go to bed._

I sit for a while longer, looking down at the pen in my hand resting in the light grip of a hand callused by years of mace-wielding. As a well-rounded warrior of the Light, I have been trained in every form of weaponry available to me – with the exception of ranged weapons such as guns, bows, and crossbows, a proscription that still puzzles me even to this day – but the two-handed mace has long been my favorite. From the ogre sledge of Rahkzur to the hammer carried by the Tauren named Smite, from the blunt edge of death that was Mograine's Might to the Light-given form of Verigan's Fist, I have loved the feel of a good solid weapon in hand since I was first strong enough to lift one. In fact, my name of Lightfist was derived from my years of sacred service and the many hammers that I have used in defense of the Alliance… and my forging was not easy.

Ah-ha! There we have it. The title of this book of memories shall be:

**The Forging of Lightfist**

And now off to bed for me, if I am to rise in time for morning devotions as well as the assistance I promised in that skirmishing class.

One last note – before I forget –

This volume, however it may end, is dedicated to Kelthain. Follow in my footsteps but repeat not my mistakes.


	2. A Touch of Scarlet

**One**_  
A Touch of Scarlet_

To all common knowledge, I was born fifty-four years ago in the spring, in the then-lovely village of Darrowshire to Corey and Raven Jenks, apothecary and schoolteacher respectively. My father was the one whom the villagers went to when both their family members and their farm stock took fever, and he treated all with fairness and respect. My mother, it is said, got the name of Raven from her long, ebony hair which she usually wore in a single plait to keep it out of the way of the young ones she surrounded herself with, and her kindness and gentle humor were hard to match. I was their only child, and I remember the first six years of my life as being filled with love and laughter like warm sunshine.

But as we all know, clouds pass over the sun and cover its warmth from time to time. It was in one of those clouds that the Plague came and corrupted my beautiful home, turning it from the paradise it was into the seething, bubbling, festering wound upon the land that it is now. Darrowshire was not spared, and neither were my parents. Not even little Pamela Redpath, my next door neighbor whom I often played dolls with, was saved from the sickly sweet stench of Plague or the fierce struggles that followed.

I do not even remember how I escaped. It is in that respect that I believe my mind was merciful in sparing me that horror. Of all of the victims of that tragic time, I believe that the luckiest ones of all were the ones that embraced death, rather than become the rotting, mindless couriers of the disease. Or worse yet, be 'spared' and locked into undeath as one of the Forsaken! I would sooner have tasted the justice of the Scarlet Crusade than be sentenced to that horrid fate.

Indeed, it is the justice of the Scarlet Crusade that saved me from a miserable death in the ruins of my home. It was one of their roving patrols that found me curled up in a corner of one of the abandoned homes, starving and shaking in the scraps of clothing and blankets that I had just barely enough sense to find.

--------

"_Aye, look, I found one!"_ A man's voice, cutting through the fog.

"_Where?" _A second voice, female this time._ "Is it still breathing?"_

"_I'll find out."_ The light clink of metal as the armored, cloaked figure crept through the ruins, mace raised defensively. I cower, knowing that even if I had a place to run to from here I would not have the energy to reach it. Indeed I can only look up with wide, dazed eyes as the man pauses in front of my hiding place. He gasps in surprise as he meets my gaze. "Someone, get a healer! This one's still alive!" Hasty footsteps scramble to reach us, and he smiles gently down at me in a way so like my father that tears begin to bubble in my eyes. "Don't worry, little one, you're safe with us."

-------

I seem to recall there being some contention among the patrol members as to what to do with me, but in the end it was decided that I would return with them to the Monastery they had set up in the far northeast part of Tirisfal. Then I spent the next week or two on horseback, wrapped in a surplus cloak as to shield me perhaps not so much from the ill-bearing mists and vapors than to hide from my sight the ruin that had once been my home. They tried to get me to tell them some of what I had been through, but my mouth remained shut; whether it was out of mistrust or simply because I was still trying to assimilate the recent events for my own interpretation, I could not tell you.

The passage from the newly-dubbed Plaguelands into Tirisfal was immediately apparent even to my stunned senses. Even though it was still dim, the fog was merely fog and carried with it natural smells of dampness and peat instead of the foul odors of death and undeath. The patrol however carried itself with newfound urgency and enforced silence. When I later gathered up the courage to ask one of the patrol members why this was, he merely looked at me gravely and sighed. "You saw it for yourself, girl. Not much is left back in those lands what really gives a whit whether you be Scarlet or if you be Forsaken. All it cares really is that you be fresh meat."

The self-imposed silence, however, soon loosened as we neared the massive complex of stone and mortar nestled in the northeast Tirisfal woods. "Welcome to the Monastery, child. Less'n we find a better place for you, this'll be your new home," the soldier who had first found me explained when the building first came in sight. Stablehands appeared to take the horses and gear away, and surrounded by the rustling cloaks and clinking armor of the patrol I silently entered the vestibule of the Monastery. I will not bother those who have visited the premises with a detailed description but will pause only long enough to say that the cold masonry and statues flanked by sentries almost as expressionless as the stone were more than a mite intimidating to my then six-year-old self. "So what are we to do with her now?" wondered my self-appointed chaperon, giving me a light, reassuring pat on the head.

"Take her to the quartermaster for now. If the man's got a brain left in his skull he'll be able to set her up right," the sour-faced female patrol leader answered. "The rest of you, get cleaned up and be ready for your report to Mograine in the Cathedral in an hour. Dismissed!" Clearly wishing to have nothing further to do with this matter, the woman turned crisply on her heel and vanished down one of the many corridors.

One by one the patrol members followed suit, only stopping long enough to give me a pitying glance and to offer some derisive remark to my guardian. He met each of these with a dismissive shrug and a look of veiled contempt as the soldier in question walked away. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "It kind of makes you wonder if any of them have had to take care of a child before."

The quartermaster in turn sent myself and Kelthior – as the soldier introduced himself to be – to the infirmary, where I was given a bath by a female medic named Arenna and attired in an apprentice's tunic that was about three times too large. "I'll see that she's taken care of," the medic assured Kelthior with a smile. "Go and get ready for your patrol's meeting with the head man."

"Yes, ma'am," the soldier replied with a mocking bow. "I'll be back to check on her once we're done." Whistling quietly to himself, Kelthior left the infirmary, leaving the medic shaking her head.

"That one's something else," muttered Arenna, shooting me a sly smile. "Methinks Herod must've knocked him around a few times too many when they were growing up and rattled something loose." I looked up at her puzzledly and she clarified. "Herod is his older brother, an excellent fighter, and the Scarlet Champion. Who knows, if you're lucky, you might have him as a teacher when you get older." She looked at me, perched up on one of the infirmary beds and huddled in the oversized tunic, and she frowned ever so slightly. "Tell you what – why don't you just stay put for a moment and I'll get both of us a bite to eat. I'm also going to see if the quartermaster you met a little while ago has some castoffs that I might be able to make into something a mite more decent for you to wear. Sound good?" I nodded. "And if you need anything, just yell. If I don't get to you, one of the other medics will."

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being shaken by a gentle hand and asked to get up. "Alliandra?" At this sudden mention of my name, cold fear descended on me, a sudden irrational animal fear that I had somehow died in my sleep and was now being greeted by the ghosts of my family. My eyes opened to see the very real face of Arenna the female medic looking down at me with concern plainly evident. "Good heavens, we were afraid we'd lost you – you've been sleeping the sleep of the…" Guessing the cause of my fright, she quickly changed tack and said, "You've just been sound asleep for the past two days, and we were afraid we'd lost you."

She cast a look back to the figure leaning in the infirmary doorway, whom I recognized upon sitting up as Kelthior. "Aye, that's her. It's a good thing that you thought to retrieve the village archives while you were there, or else we'd have never found out her name. Has the messenger returned from Southshore yet?"

"No, not yet. It turns out the only person with talent in stitchery is the horse doctor, who was off attending a delivery in Hillsbrad," replied Kelthior with a shrug. "He sent a message back via carrier pigeon to let us know he was proceeding on to Menethil." He looked at me with a friendly grin. "By the Light, Miss, you've thrown things into a real uproar around here. It took some real swift talking to convince Mograine and his crew to even keep you."

"Did I hear right that it was Whitemane herself that cast the final word?" Arenna wondered with a raised eyebrow, and Kelthior answered with a nod. "Now that must have been a miracle if that cold…" The medic silenced herself with a guilty cough. "So, no luck in Southshore? That means we'll just have to make do with what I've thrown together until our messenger gets back from the Harbor." Looking back down at me in my rumpled, oversized tunic, she sighed. "I had to raid a few supplies here and there, and while they're not perfect, they're a start." With an embarrassed flush, Arenna gestured to a pile of folded cloth at the foot of my bed. "I had to tailor them from some of our recruits' castoffs…"

"What she's trying to say," interjected Kelthior in a stage whisper, "is that she's better at stitching people back together than she is with fabric, so you'll pardon her if the clothes are a bit rough." I risked a giggle at this and reached for the clothes to look at them more closely, finding to my surprise that they were more suited for a farm boy than a young girl. Noting my blank look, Kelthior chuckled. "Yes, my lovely, you get to wear trousers like the rest of us. Ain't but the privileged few that can afford to flounce around this place in skirts, and you won't see them doing any of the actual physical fighting. Now go ahead and put them on so we can see if Arenna got this one right."

-------

When I first was taken into the Scarlet Crusade, I was deemed too small to do much more than be a page, minor errand-runner, chore-girl and (unofficial) mascot for the cause. Once I turned ten, it was discovered that I had some talent for working with the fighting hounds of the Crusade, and so I was apprenticed to Loksey the Houndmaster until further decisions could be made regarding my training. This continued until I was twelve, when Loksey somehow picked up on my subtle aggression as we were putting the latest group of hounds through their paces. "Look at you, Alli, you're in a worse temper than Mika after she's had a litter. If what I think's eating you, then I can only tell you to leave it be. There's nothing you can do."

Dashing after a dog that had deviated from its course, I swatted at it with the training stick Loksey had only just now started letting me carry and observed it carefully to make sure it did as told. "Master, please don't tell me that. I feel worse than useless here, while I know that there is still Scourge out there doing to other people what it did to my parents… and to my home. You can't just let me sit by!" I made another swipe at the dog, half-hearted this time.

Loksey sighed. "Alli, you're only twelve. You think you've got the brawn to swing around a blade when the most you've carried is buckets of water for the stockpots in the kitchens? You think you've got enough meat on you to support a full set of mail when the most you wear is light leather? It'll take a few years at least to even get you up to where a foot patrol can use you, and that won't be easy. Is that really what you want?"

"Yes, that's what I want. And you'll never know what I can do until you let me try."

"So the pup we found half-starved and scared to death is finally starting to show its teeth, hm?" A patient smile this time. "Tell you what – I'm going to let these ones have a rest, and I'd suggest you do the same. While you do that, I'll see what I can do about getting you some weapons training."

It was all I could do to maintain composure during the noon prayers and to keep from dancing for joy all the way back to the kitchens for the meal afterwards. At last, I would be doing something of use, and I would be helpless no longer. I must not have been doing good enough of a job, because Kelthior noticed my cheer at the table as he sat down across from me. "Blast, Miss, did Loksey forget to give you the scrubdown with that special shampoo like he'd promised? You're jumping like you've got the fleas."

"I won't even ask what special shampoo the medics forgot to use on you," I muttered, tearing a chunk of bread off to wipe the last dregs of soup out of my bowl. Kelthior blanched momentarily, then chuckled with a suggestive grin that I knew better than to question. "It's just that I'll finally start getting some useful training, that's all. Master said he'd talk to someone about training me as a fighter!"

Kelthior smiled ruefully to himself, and when I glared at him, he said, "It's not you, Miss A, not at all. In fact, it's rare that we see someone with such enthusiasm so early – hopefully you can keep that enthusiasm. It'll be a great tool for the Crusade." His smile vanished, replaced by a hollow look in his eyes as he focused on his food. The look was one of such sadness that I suddenly felt guilty in my excitement, and I quickly found somewhere else to look, biting my lip uneasily. After a few minutes of silence, Kelthior looked back up again. "Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. In fact, after I get done here, why don't we go and talk with Herod? I'm sure he'll want to see who he'll be working with."

I was all wide eyes and curiosity, pattering along behind Kelthior as we walked through the Armory on our way to the Hall where Herod taught his lessons. Kelthior paused for a moment before the great double doors that marked the training space, then looked down at me suddenly and said, "Whatever you do, do not let him get to you. You've got to show him that you've got the guts to take whatever he can throw at you – because the Scourge does not hold back. Neither will he."

Memories – buried for the past six years, memories of stench, screams and above all, death – flickered through my mind unbidden at the unexpected reminder of the Scourge. "I – I know what the Scourge can do, Kelthior - " I stammered, trying to hold back the mixed feelings of sickness and anger that the memories brought with them, "and you know that I know. Why do you think I'm doing this?"

"Aye, Alliandra, I know. Just making sure that you do too before you do it." Instead of the pat on the head that I usually got as encouragement, Kelthior risked a quick squeeze of my shoulder. "And above all, remember why." That said, the soldier swung the doors open and strode through.


	3. Transmutation

**Two**  
_Transmutation_

Training as one of the armed hands of the Crusade was more difficult than even Loksey had let on, and not just because of the physical strain. The disdain of the other fighters was plainly evident, and some of them made no attempt to hide their feelings, muttering to each other as if I was not even there. "Alli-cat" was one of the less offensive nicknames given to me based on my somewhat rangy and haphazard appearance, but the one that rankled the most was "Plague-girl." Even though I was successful in hiding the irritation this brought, the anger still rippled deeply in some dark corner of me like a feral animal. _If only they knew – _I thought_ – then they would not say those things. If only they knew… _It was a miracle that I survived even as long as I did with that festering rage, and it was only after I had just entered my fourteenth year that something finally happened to let it loose.

Physical purity, though rigorously sought after by the higher members of the Scarlet movement, was a lesser priority for its rank and file, and the liaisons that did happen were a matter of public secrecy – tacitly acknowledged and ignored as a necessary evil. I chose to abstain from them, regarding them as foolishness that detracted from the Crusade's real purpose, and relentlessly submerging the pangs when they arose. And arise they did, most especially and embarrassingly when I was in the presence of Kelthior's brother Herod. I would falter in my actions whenever I felt his eye on me, which seemed to happen more and more frequently the further I progressed in my training. And, as much as I tried to ignore it and cover for my mistakes, the other students noticed and pilloried me for it with great relish.

Matters finally came to a boil one day after the afternoon training session had concluded. I had soundly defeated each sparring partner sent my direction in both unarmed and blade combat, and I was leaving the training grounds in pursuit of a hot bath when I heard, as usual, the mocking voices of the defeated nipping at my heels like Mika's pups had when they were younger and did not know better. "So the Alli-cat beat you again, eh?"

"Yeah, she did," a second voice grumbled in reply. "Surprising that a tiny little snip has so much fight in her – makes you wonder where she gets all of it."

A third voice. "Must be all of that pent-up frustration. She's always alone…"

First voice, laughing, then, "You mean to say no one's taken her yet? She may be short, but she's not bad looking at all. Probably has a few moves no one's seen yet, if you get my meaning."

A disgusted noise from the third student. "That's gross. She's only fourteen."

"Never too early to start, eh?" the second murmured, and I could suddenly feel the heat of staring eyes on my sweat-spackled back.

"I wouldn't bother," the third said. "She's only got eyes for Herod." This got the desired reaction, laughter from all three and an incriminating shoulder twitch from me. "See? She doesn't even try to deny it."

"Now that's funny. He'd snap her like a twig!" A giggle from the first. "But I suppose there's no accounting for taste, now is there, Plague-girl?" This time my entire body tensed, but I continued walking. "Well, stay the hell away from him. We don't want you spreading your taint to our Champion, do we?" Mutters of agreement from the other two. "In fact, why don't you just leave and let the Scourge take you, like it should have?"

That was it. _They don't know what they say. With any luck, they won't live long enough to think about it…_ I stopped and began to re-stretch my body, letting the rage seep through tired muscles and tendons and set the connections afire again. "What do you know about the Scourge, cretin?" I muttered, giving my neck one last twist and then bringing my hands together to crack the knuckles. "Tell me, what do you know?"

A pause, then an astonished bark of a laugh. "I'm sorry, did you just say something?"

I eased into a ready stance. "I told you to tell me what you know about the Scourge."

"I know all I need to know just by looking at you!" The student shook his head and shot looks at the other students – one male, one female – that stood behind him. "Come on, let's get washed up and get something to eat."

I remained silent as the trio sauntered past me, marking the first as my primary target as he brushed by me with a triumphant smirk. He did not expect to be yanked back sharply by a small hand at his collar, gagging for air as the fabric of his shirt twisted tight. He also did not expect the arm connected to the small hand to swing him around and throw him roughly to the grass. "You never properly answered my question," I growled, placing my foot across his throat. "You know nothing about the Scourge. All you know is what you've heard, what they've told you here. You've never seen those foul bastards descend and devour a village, slaughtering all of its people and then lighting the houses afire!" With each word, I let the pressure on his windpipe increase slowly. "And by the Light, they stink. They stink worse than you do."

This last brought a startled gasp from the other two students who had stopped to watch. "I suppose you don't know what it's like to lose everything that you love, now do you? And then to be snatched out of it to a place like this where every day is a struggle to prove yourself against termites like you. And yes, you are right about Herod. I want him more than you would ever know – not just because he is better looking than you, but because he knows how to kill without mercy, and if he doesn't like you, he makes no bones about it. None of this sneaking around, whispering behind the back garbage." I abruptly removed my foot. "Now get up and fight me. Not that weak crap you pulled on me earlier out of pity – fight me like you would someone who is out for your life." I watched coldly as the young man staggered to his feet, and I then gave the other two a dark look. "And you two, don't you dare interfere, or you will find yourself in as much pain as he will be."

Then, turning to face my opponent, I let the memories rise again… I let myself remember the fear, the running from those lifeless eyes and reaching hands, the anguish of watching my home burn, and the utter futility of not being able to do anything about it. The rage ruled me, serving as fuel and anesthetic, powering me and numbing me to the pain of the blows that managed to connect. In fact, I barely remember the fight itself, only that it seemed to go on for an eternity until at last both of us were nearly too fatigued to stand. I then summoned my last bit of energy and let the anger breathe life into it, screaming, _"And you know what else? I survived the Scourge! Can you say the same?"_ Then, when my foe hit the grass next, he was unconscious.

Flexing my hands, oblivious to the fact that they and the rest of me were spattered with blood, I raised my baleful eyes to the crowd of students that had gathered and now watched with fear showing plainly. "Does anyone else want to tell me what they know? Anyone?"

There was a small commotion as a new spectator moved forward, but I did not see who it was because, at that point, I lost all sense and pitched forward onto the grass.

-------

I came to some time later the next morning in one of the infirmary bunks, my body aching like it had endured a rockslide. My head swam in waves of pain, and my eyes watered when I tried to open them. "So the little firecat decided to wake up." I recognized the gently chiding voice of Arenna and I grinned ruefully. The damp cloth she put across my forehead felt refreshingly cold, and I opened my eyes fully to see both her and Kelthior looking down at me worriedly. "Well, you've set your training back by some time with that little debacle – a moderate concussion as well as numerous sprains, fractures, and a few minor breaks, not to mention that you were bleeding like a gutted fish."

Kelthior shook his head at the medic. "Wonderful bedside manner, Ren. Just don't tell her about the other student…"

It was Arenna's turn to shake her head at Kelthior. "And don't you get her worried." Looking down at me, she smiled weakly and said, "The other student – well, suffice to say, he'll never fight again, at least not as a full time soldier. He's been reassigned to work under careful supervision in the library. As far as Mograine and the others know, this was just a training accident and everything is proceeding as usual."

"Unfortunately – " here Kelthior rolled his eyes " – everyone that was there knows about your little secret, including the, er, object of your affections. He was the one that carried you here, by the way, much to everyone's amazement. And amusement." There was a short, deep_Ahem_ from the infirmary door, and Kelthior gave the interjector an impatient look. "I suppose that means we need to step out for a minute, because your teacher would have a word with you." Chuckling to himself in his usual fashion, Kelthior herded Arenna out of the infirmary.

A firm step that I recognized all too well crossed through the doorway, and my face began to burn with shame. Wanting to be anywhere but here and knowing that I had no choice, I fixed my eyes on the ceiling and tried not to cry. "Cursed female hormones," the familiar voice muttered as he shut the infirmary door. "Rub you the wrong way and us men are likely to lose a hand – if not something else." The footsteps, coming closer and then stopping by the bed. "But also a force to be reckoned with, as that lad learned firsthand."

One hand flicked the blanket that covered me aside to gauge the full extent of my injuries, then put it in place again. "That was bloody stupid, and you know it. My brother told you not to let me get to you, but that goes for anyone here. You need to learn to focus that anger – be it anger at the Scourge or anger at the idiot that affronts your dignity, I know that's what it was out there yesterday. Focus it and let it fuel your blows like gunpowder, short-lasting but powerful, and don't let it overpower you – unless your life depends on it."

I remained still, forcing myself to be calm and listen to his words, struggling to keep my face impassive. "If you wish, I can teach you how to manage that anger as I have had to learn to do for myself." The voice dropped, became quieter. "In one way or another, I will refine you into the tool of the Light that you are meant to be." An awkward cough, one that seemed so out of character that I blinked in surprise, then he said in his usual bold tones, "We will continue this discussion later when you are released from bed rest." Then with a brisk turn Herod strode out of the infirmary, leaving the door open for Arenna and Kelthior to return. He gave his grinning brother a contemptuous look before disappearing from sight.

Arenna and Kelthior burst in like frightened chickens, the medic swooping over to roost by my bed to inspect me for evidence of foul play. "Good, he didn't do anything to you."

"He may be a cold, callous, frightening bastard, but he's not the type to try and take advantage of an injured girl," Kelthior protested, giving me a studying look. "So, what did you talk about?"

"The power of focused anger," I said after a short pause. "Why, what did you think we were talking about?"

"Oh, nothing." Kelthior traded a look with Arenna, who shrugged.

-------

It will suffice to say in the three months that it took me to fully recover, the recounting of my little escapade had permeated the whole Monastery, and those who had an issue with me from that point on at least kept it to themselves. I also learned the value of focused anger in combat, and it became increasingly difficult to find a sparring partner who was willing to fight whether armed or unarmed. If before they had called me "Plague-girl," now I was just simply "unnatural" and politely avoided as such.

I was almost fifteen when the man now known as Raleigh the Devout defected and ran beyond the reach of the Crusade, putting us all on the defensive. Any parties we sent out to find him either never came back or returned with no news, in which case it would have been better for them if they had never come back.

Then the raiding parties came…

The first raid groups, acting on minimal information – provided by Raleigh, of this there was no doubt even back then – and even less experience, were easily put down when the first appeared. These groups, usually five in number but upon rare occasion up to ten members, were usually defeated by the lower ranks or sometimes by Loksey and his hounds if they even got that far.

We soon became accustomed to these occasional incursions, alarms sent by watchers in the Whispering Gardens or an unseen sentry in the vestibule that would set the Monastery humming like a grenade into a silithid hive. At this stage in my training where I was no longer an apprentice but still not a full-fledged soldier, I was often told to seek cover until the conflict was over.

I had just concluded a training session with Herod, availed myself of the private bathing facilities accorded to his status, and was attending him during his ablutions when the alarm sounded again. My hands paused for a moment in their search for a particularly vicious knot in the Champion's shoulder that had been plaguing him for some time, and for a moment I debated whether or not I should flee to my usual hiding place. Sensing my indecision, Herod shook his head. "Stay here. This shouldn't take very long." I studiously averted my eyes as he rose from the tub, taking the towel which I silently offered and then stalking off to don his armor.

Afterwards I sat in silence, counting the moments off by heartbeats, the moments then stretching into what I'd guessed to be half an hour or close to it. Hearing returning footsteps, I tensed in preparation for the worst as the door to the bathing room opened again. To my relief it was only Herod, towel kilted around his waist and looking at me blankly as if trying to remember what I was doing there. Then, remembering, he shook his head with a small smirk. "They bypassed Loksey and went straight to the Athenaeum, where Doan quickly put them out of their misery. Only five, and my guess is that they lost their nerve."

I laughed unsteadily. "Good news, I guess…?"

Herod frowned, reaching to unknot the towel, and I moved my gaze elsewhere as he resettled himself in the somewhat cooled bath water. "Maybe for the rest of the people here. I've been wanting a real fight for some time." I squeaked in mild affront and the Champion chuckled in a deeper hued resonance of his brother Kelthior's usual laugh. "Not that you don't try your best, but I have no need or desire to break and destroy my best student. Most certainly not when she gives such superior backrubs as well."

Giggling at this in spite of myself, I resumed where I'd left off earlier, finding the knot and applying firm pressure. "Hint taken, sir."

"And one of these days I suppose you'll learn to take a compliment when it's so plainly given." This last came in a drowsy grumble. "I think both of us have had enough action for today – you may leave if you wish."

Feeling the muscle tension ease, I removed my hands with one last surreptitious caress and stood up, unrolling my sleeves and pant legs to their normal lengths. I retrieved boots, belt, and recently-received tabard from a low shelf by the door, donning them quickly and then – feeling very awkward – bowing to the figure reclining in the tub before making good my exit.

An unsettled feeling remained in my gut from then on, persisting through the noon meal and prayers. I found myself making my way back to the kennel where Loksey kept his hounds, hoping to find some solace there from the uneasiness that followed me like a shadow. No sooner had I come within three paces of the door, however, then a heated argument reached my ears and I decided to back off until it had passed. "Bloody hell, boy, what do you expect me to tell you?" I heard Loksey exclaim with audible frustration.

Kelthior, fuming: "I don't know, you're the one that spent the most time with her. You should know by now what makes her act the way she does!"

I blinked first then blushed when I realized that I was the topic of their discussion. "Well," Loksey said wearily, "I'm afraid that the only females I know that much about are the furry, four-legged variety. I always thought the two-legged ones were your area of expertise…"

The soldier made a weak noise of protest, then subsided. "Nice to know someone thinks that. But it's just a little sickening to watch – when they spar, it's like they're – " An uncomfortable pause. "Loksey, he's twenty-seven, and she's only fourteen."

"A thirteen year difference," the houndmaster mused after a second's thought. "And you think you're more acceptable because there's only twelve between you and her?" A sigh. "I suppose you've never been around people from the boonies much, have you. If a girl's not married off by sixteen – and Alli is almost fifteen – she's considered past her prime and well-nigh worthless. Sickening, yes, but just because you don't like it doesn't mean it doesn't happen."

"I guess you have a point," Kelthior muttered. "Sorry to bother you."

"Don't worry about it. I haven't always been this old, you know?" Mumbled agreement from the younger man, and then silence.

I was so absorbed in their conversation and its pertinence to me that I scarcely noticed its end and was startled nearly out of my wits by Kelthior's sudden appearance in the hallway. "Er… hello, Alli. Didn't see you standing there," he stammered, looking as uneasy as I felt. "I trust your lessons went well today, what with the intruders and all…"

I grinned fakely, the unsettled feeling magnifying tenfold. "Of course. The Master is very pleased with my progress."

"So it would seem. You've been working very hard to prove yourself, and it shows." A feeble laugh. "Well, it looks like you had something to speak with Loksey about, so I'll get going. See you around."

Unsure of what to say, I watched Kelthior turn and walk off with his shoulders in a defeated sag. When I entered the kennel, I stopped for a moment, words still failing me as Loksey looked at me expectantly. Even the hounds seemed to be waiting for me to say something, and with embarrassment burning my face, I stared down at my feet. After some moments of silence, the houndmaster made a disgusted noise and grumbled, "Well, if you're just going to stand around and not tell me what it is you came here for, I hope you don't mind if I put you to work while I go and check on a few things."

"No, sir, of course not."

"Fine. Just stay here and keep an eye on the dogs until I get back. Keep 'em quiet – all the racket today got 'em a bit squirrelly."

"Aye, sir." I waited until Loksey had gone before slouching to the floor in the far corner of the kennel. The hounds settled down around me, easing into a light sleep in the late afternoon quiet.

This time there was no alarm, merely shouts of confusion, the clash of weapons, and strange animal roars. The hounds sprang up, hackles raised and growls rumbling in their throats as they sensed a rapidly approaching threat. Then there was silence, marked only by the muffled clink of armored feet and terse whispered conversation between unfamiliar voices.

Then the intruders burst in, the strangest pair of fighters that I had ever seen. The male was short by human standards, a horned helm hiding all facial features except for his eyes, squinting as they lined up a shot on a wicked-looking crossbow. Some distant voice in the back of my head informed me in encyclopedic tones that this was one of the dwarves from Dun Morogh, likely from Ironforge, but even this small fact did not comfort as he loosed his first shot at one of the hounds. The dog fell back for a moment, wounded, but rallied its remaining strength as well as the rest of the pack to spring at their attacker with bared fangs. Exchanging the crossbow for two axes, the dwarf set about defending himself from the onslaught.

At a call from the dwarf, a large white bear lumbered into the room and began shredding into the hounds with tooth and claw. A second humanoid – tall, female, inhumanly graceful, blue-skinned and long-eared – let out a similar call, and a fierce silver wolf bounded in on the heels of the bear. The night elf – as the voice told me she undoubtedly was – launched herself into the fray with a yell in some strange language, swinging a pair of mismatched exotic blades with fatal speed and accuracy. All three hounds were dispatched in a matter of seconds, and I lay paralyzed with fear in my corner, staring at this hellish group.

The bear sniffed at me questioningly, and I jerked away. "It's all right," the dwarf told the creature, ruffling the fur between its ears before turning to look at me again. He removed his helmet, uncovering a craggy face and long fiery orange beard, and offered his hand to me. "Me name's Matoc, and this here's me pet, Jake. He won't hurt ye unless I tell him to, and I wouldn't do that. Behind me is Althyrra and Moon Pie. They're only dangerous when ye get them mad."

I felt the animal fear rise in me again, threatening to overpower what defenses I had built against it, distorting the dwarf and his party into grossly inhuman shapes from the past reaching out towards me. My hands scrabbled about for a weapon, and finding none, I pulled myself into a defensive crouch. _I won't go down without a fight,_ I muttered to myself. _I've survived before, I can do it again. They won't take me from my home!_

"Look at her, Mat," the night elf murmured, looking at me with concern in her oddly luminous eyes. "She's just a girl – and she's terrified for her life."

"Well, she sure as hell doesn't belong here. Can ye put her to sleep long enough to get her out? We can always come back later."

Althyrra sighed. "Aye, I'd agree with you on that one." Thinking for a moment, she added, "My mother is a druid, and I think I might have learned a thing or two from watching her with my sister." A simple phrase, calming as a breeze through the woods, sliced through my panic and drew soothing darkness down over me like a blanket.

That was my last day as a member of the Scarlet Crusade. Now that I look back on it, I thank the Light for its hand in the matter, or else who knows what I would be like today – if I were even alive.

-------

_Northshire Abbey  
Elwynn Forest, Eastern Kingdoms_

"So you want us to retrain her?" The man whom I would later come to know as Marshal McBride glanced at me dubiously, then shook his head. "It certainly won't be easy – I've heard how the Crusade molds its recruits into something almost inhuman - " Hearing the word _inhuman_ in application to the ones who had rescued me made my lips twist in an animal snarl around the gag that had been roughly applied after my waking to prevent the outbursts of verbal abuse I hurled against the inhabitants of Northshire and Matoc and Althyrra in particular. "It will take a few years as well to undo their foul work. Would you be willing to leave her in our hands for that long?"

"As long as it takes," Althyrra murmured, giving me an unreadable look. "She belongs in the hands of pure, noble people who will teach her of the good in the world. A diet of hatred and bigotry is not what you feed a growing child."

"Aye," Matoc agreed. "And we'll send whatever ye need for her, be it food or clothing or money."

"Well, I might just have to accept that offer." McBride sighed. "Our Abbey has suffered much within the past few years, and we find ourselves coming up short more than we like to admit."

"We shall have to change that, then," the night elf replied. "We will return when we get the chance to check on her progress. When you deem her ready, send word to the innkeeper at the Deepwater Tavern in Menethil. I or one of my guild will take her from you then."

"Fair enough," the marshal muttered with a defeated air. "Just don't expect a miracle."

"Ye're doin' the work of the Light here. Just think of this as a situation to be solved, an enemy to be conquered, and ye'll do just fine." Matoc grinned. "Ye do well enough with all of the other greenhorns that pass through here."

"And only the Great Mother can work a miracle. May She bless you and give you what you need." Althyrra bowed deeply to the human, causing him to turn a bit pink and look away.

"Don't give them too much trouble, ye hear?" Matoc stage-whispered to me and ruffled my hair the same way he had patted his pet bear. With my hands bound and my mouth gagged, there was little I could do to him other than glare fiercely. "If we can't come back to check on ye, we'll send someone." Nodding a courteous farewell to the marshal, Matoc then turned and went outside to retrieve his mount.

"Goddess watch over you," Althyrra told me with a small but genuine smile, adding in a voice almost too low to hear, "little sister." Then she was gone. I spun to watch the pair leave, the dwarf with his giant gray ram and the night elf riding atop a large, graceful dark gray cat, feeling mixed anger and sadness with each stride they took away from me.

"Well then," said McBride uneasily, "let's get to work here. Those two told me you were a fighter back at the Monastery – that much is evident by your build and your armor – so I'll turn you over to our Paladin trainer. Brother Sammuel should be able to set you right." And thus my reprogramming began, aided by the patience of the staff at the Abbey and an occasional kick in the pants whenever I strayed. It was there that I learned that justice is only a strong crushing fist when needed, and more often a gentle but firm push in the right direction.

The gag stayed in for the first week of my stay, and the bonds that held my hands were only removed when two guards were diverted from their normal duties and appointed to watch me two weeks after that. My mind still struggled with reconciling what I had been taught in Tirisfal – that if you were not of the Crusade, you were tainted and thus marked for death – versus the clear goodness and charity shown me by the denizens of Northshire, and I set about testing them by whatever means possible. The first time they tried removing both gag and bonds, which was a mistake on both counts as I bit and clawed my way away from the priests. Not knowing any better, I sought refuge in the highest point – the bell tower, home to the Abbey's resident wine expert, one Brother Neals – until Brother Sammuel was able to make sense of Neals' frightened gibberish and track me down.

It was then that I learned the value of a well-placed blow, as Sammuel wasted no time in fetching me a hefty slap across the face that sent me reeling into the wall. "I regret striking you like that," he growled as I wiped blood from a split lip, "but we have tolerated your behavior for this long. Then, when we are finally willing to show you freedom, you rebel like a wild creature against those who would dare show you kindness. If it takes rattling your skull a bit to let the Light in, then so be it. But I will not allow you to act like this any further, or I will strike you again and I will not hold back. Is that perfectly clear, young lady?"

"Aye," I mumbled, finding it hard to manage even that one word.

It was their very sense of charity that prevented the Abbey folk from posting guards within my actual sleeping space, even after they removed my restraints, and each night the narrow window seemed to beckon with forbidden promise as I lay looking through it at the stars and the mountains bracketing Northshire Valley. Yet a very base fear of the outside world kept me from taking the chance, as if anything away from the confines of the valley would be an instant touch of death. It was overhearing a conversation between Sammuel and the Marshal that gave me a reason to risk it, an exchange in which I heard the two older men discussing the proper disposal of my effects from the Crusade. After some deliberation, it was decided that my armor and tabard would be taken to Goldshire to be destroyed in the fires of the forge, and when I heard that there was no doubt in my mind that I had to stop them from doing this.

Unfortunately for me, on the day that the destruction was to take place I was on duty helping muck out the stables as punishment for breaking some dishes at the previous evening's meal, and I could only watch as the Abbey messenger disappeared down the road with a large sack on his back. My tears mingled with the sweat of hard labor as I realized that there would truly be no escape after this. I would be stuck with these unnaturally kind people until it drove me mad…

Fortune did smile on me that night, however, by dimming the usually bright moon and stars with cloud cover. I ensured that the door to my sleeping chamber was locked, as it usually was to prevent me from escaping through it, then turned my attention to the high and narrow window that would be my means of exit. Somehow I was able to stretch far enough to get a grasp on the window ledge, then heave myself up and over. I then quietly allowed myself to drop to the grass, using the skills given me at the Monastery to evade the guards and to avoid waking the merchants sleeping in their carts outside the front door. Then, making good my chance for escape, I darted down the road to the waiting lights of Goldshire.

-------

The streets of the little village were dark and empty, but firelight glowed from the foundry as the blacksmith finished some late night tasks. I hid myself in the shadows near the front steps and peered in, nearly crying for joy as I saw the sack from the Abbey still leaning full near the forge. Then my heart sank as I realized that there was no way that I could manage to overpower the smith and run away with my armor, lacking the physical strength and tactical advantage as well as having no clear idea as to where I would run afterwards. Lifting each piece carefully from the sack, the smith gave them a good lookover before setting them aside. "Such fine craftsmanship – obviously custom-made for whoever wore them. 'Tis a proper shame to destroy them, but…" He then lifted the tabard from the sack and dropped it like he'd grasped a poisonous snake. "So that's what the story is, eh? It will be no shame after all."

The foundry was then filled with acrid smoke and the hiss of melting metal as the smith set to work destroying my armor. As a finishing touch, he picked up the tabard with his tongs, seemingly unwilling to stain his hands as he threw it onto the slag pile and then watching it burn with a satisfied smile. "I hope they put the bastard who wore that mail to a good end. World'll be a better place without those Scarlet freaks."

I must have let a gasp out when I heard this, because the smith turned abruptly and peered out into the darkness. Then I realized that I was no longer hidden, as I had stood up to watch him while he destroyed what was left of my past. "Well hello there," he said with a surprised smile. "You must be new around here. What's your name, young one?" Without thinking, I turned and ran back up the road from which I had come, instinctively knowing it would take me back to such home as I had left. Over the crunch of dirt underfoot, I could just barely hear the smith's dumbfounded words: "Don't tell me those were yours…"

Not wishing to face the guards – or, even worse, Sammuel or the Marshal – I instead darted for the seeming comfort of the forest across the river. The cozy light of a campfire shone out from in front of a small white tent, reminding me of the camps the Crusade patrol had set while taking me back from the Plaguelands to the Monastery. A few sentries sat by the fire and traded stories, and others slept on the ground near and around the tent. To my sight, they all appeared to be part of some kind of gang. Perhaps they would be my way out of this place.

At the sound of my footsteps, the sentries both looked up sharply and squinted into the gloom. "'Oo goes there?"

Swallowing my nervousness, I spoke up. "My name is Alliandra of the Scarlet Crusade. Perhaps you could help me find a way to get back to my people - "

A short bark from the second sentry. "You've got to be bloody kidding me. A little twiglet like you, part o'the mighty Crusade? More like a spy, if you arsk me."

The word _spy_ caused the rest of the rest of the sleeping bodies to stir, much like a pack of predatory beasts waking to the hunt. They reached for slender, curved swords and began to advance slowly. When I turned to run I realized that more had slithered down from the trees where they had been concealed for the night and these now blocked my escape._What have I done?_ A trembling moan of fear wedged its way out from my pale mouth as I saw my mistake. "You might as well make yourself comfortable, missy, 'cause you're staying a while," the first sentry said with a horrid grin.

"But – who are you?" I stammered, noting that the unifying color in their garb was a chilling blood red.

"We're the Defias Brotherhood," replied the second, "and we help no one but our own. Sorry, missy, but ye be outta luck."

Mutters of agreement rippled through the group, and they began to encircle me again with weapons drawn. Unbidden, the memories began to flicker through my brain – not just of the destruction of my home and the raw and cruel murder of its citizens – but also of the training matches at the Monastery with the other students that sometimes were too brutal to be called practice. I could feel the anger hissing in my ears, burning in me like the hottest flame, but then a voice cut in. A familiar, soothing voice, reminding me - _You need to learn to focus that anger –_ That's all great, Herod, but I'm in danger here - _don't let it overpower you – unless your life depends on it_ – Exactly. Now I need a weapon.

Eyes casting about for something, anything to be used in my defense, I came upon a downed tree branch not too far from the campfire, perhaps meant as fuel against the early morning chill. Now if only to get to it…

I closed my eyes, took a quick sharp focusing breath, then sprang into action. The quickest route to the fire took me through three of the bandits, one falling to a swift solar plexus jab, another to a passing kidney punch, and the last to an outstretched foot at the right moment. Then I snatched up the branch, testing its heft in my hands. A bit heavy and unwieldy in the long run, but it would have to do. The next bandit that got too close got a solid whack in the knees with my improvised club, and the rest of them hung back in uneasy anticipation to see what I would do next.

"So she's got a bit of brains to her after all," came a third, lazy voice from inside the tent. My eyes widened to see the obvious leader of the group emerge and, picking up an unlit torch, cross towards the fire. "But she'll be lucky if she can get away from us without a few bumps and bruises. Right, boys and girls?"

Mutters of assent rose from the group, and it took great force of will not to let fear take over my mind. I watched with a certain detachment as the leader touched the torch to the fire and set it alight, then circled the firepit towards me. The bandits cleared a narrow ring of space, reminding me once again of hungry predators. My heart hammered in my ears, and I readied myself for another burst of motion. Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear a voice telling me that I would indeed be truly lucky if I could make it out of this one intact.

Then there was a shout from the perimeter. "Oi, Garrick! Reinforcements from the Abbey!" The mob scattered into various locations throughout the grove to get a better view. I spun to look also, and my heart raced in uneasy anticipation as I saw Sammuel leading a trio of guards. The one called Garrick let out a curse and, grabbing one of his nearby lackeys, dashed off into the woods. Not wanting to be caught inactive, I figured out the path of the incoming Northshire folk and began bludgeoning my way through the remaining bandits.


	4. Illumination

**Three**_  
Illumination  
Fifteen months later...  
_

"Amereyna! So good to see you at last. I trust your travels have gone well?" The Marshal, sounding unusually cheerful.

"Aye, sir, they have," replied a woman in low, musical tones marked with a strange foreign accent that I had trouble placing. "And I see that the Abbey is still in good condition – still holding up after the thrashing us trainees put it through."

"Just barely so. Give my thanks to your mistress and her friend for the support they've given us."

I shot a glance up at the pair through the doorway of the anteroom in which I waited. The woman called Amereyna, clad as she was in robes of rich blue and black with strange golden runes woven into the cloth, turned her head ever so slightly to return my look, and I trembled slightly at the aura of arcana she projected with even this slight motion. Then she smiled lightly and the glitter of incredible power vanished, giving her the look of a girl not too much older than I. Now that I have known her for a time, I still do not know which I fear more – the mage revealed or the image of the girl intent on mischief. She then returned her gaze to the Marshal. "So that is her?"

"None other. We have done what we can, so she is released to your care." Seeing the Marshal's head turn in my direction, I ducked back down in my affectation of silent meditation. "Though might I ask why one of the other two didn't come to get her?"

A shrug. "Pressing business elsewhere, as usual. They send their regrets for not being here in person, but also their thanks for your assistance." She reached into one of her voluminous sleeves and removed a velvet pouch that chinked heavily of coin as she offered it to the Marshal. "This should be enough to cover any additional expenses."

McBride took the bag and weighed it in his hand, untying its strings briefly to peer inside and then staring up at the woman with his mouth agape. "Dare I ask how much this is?"

"You might not want to say that number so loudly with the Defias camped in your backyard." One of the amber-colored eyes barely visible under the shade of a blue hood winked at the Marshal. "Although I did hear from the guards that Alli here has had some experience with those types – haven't you, Alliandra."

Their pleasant conversation had lulled me off into a daze, which I snapped out of with a start upon hearing my name. "Oh – er, yes, I have, ma'am."

"Well, I shall have to hear more about it while we are traveling. Please, come with me now." Amereyna then dipped low in a courtly curtsey to the Marshal, who saluted crisply in return. She then sketched a sign in the air before turning to leave.

Getting up, I did my best to approximate the salute I had just seen the Marshal give. "Thank you for your guidance and assistance, sir."

"And thank you, Alliandra. You are dismissed." I was thrilled to receive the same gesture that I had seen given to Amereyna, and I could not hide a grin as I shouldered my pack and trotted outside to find her.

The older woman stood outside next to a strong horse that was pure black in color, putting the finishing adjustments on the tack as she waited. "My apologies if I kept you waiting, ma'am," I muttered, offering an uneasy bow.

"Not a problem. I understand the meaning of farewells." Again the disarming smile. "And you needn't stand on formality with me. You may call me by my name, you know." She paused a moment, waiting for me to nod in acknowledgement, then held a hand out. "Your pack, please? We must make haste if we are to meet with the people who want to see you." I wordlessly handed her my backpack and watched as she secured it to the horse before hitching her robes up and effortlessly sliding into the saddle. "Hop on up behind me and hold tight to my waist. Like I said, we are in a hurry."

After some struggle, I clambered up behind Amereyna and wrapped my arms around her waist as directed. She made a small clucking sound to the horse and twitched the reins, and we were off at a brisk trot. "May I ask you a question, ma - Amereyna?"

"Of course. From the sounds of it, you have more than one…" I made an affirmative sound, and she continued, "I shall give you what answers I can. If it is not meant for you to know, I will tell you that as well. Fair enough?"

"Aye," I agreed. "First - what exactly are you, where are you from, and what are you doing here?"

"Good enough for starters. I am a mage, specializing in frost magic as well as a touch of pure arcana, and I am currently pursuing advanced studies under the wisdom of my Lady Jaina Proudmoore in Theramore. Both she and my guild mistress have granted me leave for this small excursion, both for the purpose of retrieving you as well as witnessing my daughter's first major trial as a warlock." Amereyna sensed the awe behind my silence and giggled. "What amazes you more, Alli – that I am a mage, that I am old enough to have a daughter your age, or that she is also a pursuant of the arcane arts, albeit of a darker bent than I?" I could not answer this, and the mage giggled again in a fashion that I found a mite disquieting. "Any more questions?"

"Just two," I answered when I could speak again. "Where are we going, and what is to become of me?"

"We are first going to the Mage Quarter in Stormwind, to see if my daughter has what it takes to conquer and summon her own voidwalker. Afterwards we journey over the seas to the fair realm of Teldrassil where you shall meet with our mistress Althyrra. She would have come here to get you herself, but she had matters to attend to with agents of the Cenarion Circle in Darnassus and was called away at the last moment. She does send her apologies. As for the second question…" A meditative silence, then, "That remains to be seen. Your future may only be writ by your own hand."

-------

The clock chimed late in the afternoon as we cantered through the massive gate of Stormwind City, and Amereyna made a dismayed sound. "She is to undergo the trial at any moment – please, hold on. This might be a bit disorienting for someone who does not know the paths as I do." She then spurred her horse on to faster speeds, galloping breakneck under arches and over bridges and leaving me only to hope that she knew the way as well as she'd vowed. Moments later she'd pulled to a halt and pried my hands loose. "We're here, and I hope we are not too late."

I followed close on her heels as she dashed up the steps into what I guessed to be a tavern – The Slaughtered Lamb, according to its signboard – and then pelted down a seemingly endless spiral staircase into a central chamber, her clattering arrival disturbing the ruminations of the inhabitants within. "Methinks you have stumbled into the wrong place, my ladies," murmured one of the male warlocks, giving us both a dark look. "Is there something I can assist you with, or shall I ask you to be on your way?"

"My – someone I know is being tested," Amereyna answered, assuming a mask of cold serenity. "Her ability to best the voidwalker is at trial, and I would wish to be present."

"The trial is underway at this moment, and I cannot allow you to interfere. However, we will find out in moments whether she shall finish the test or if it shall finish her, so be patient." The warlock resumed whatever musings he'd been occupied with, eyes gazing off into the distance as if watching something we could not see. A few seconds later, he returned to the current time and space with a small smirk. "It is complete. You shall see your daughter shortly. And you wonder how I know? If the face did not give it away, the fire of power did. Your talents were wasted, Amereyna, and you know it."

"Silence," the mage hissed, giving the warlock an imperious glare that failed to faze him. The tension of the scene was broken by tired footsteps coming up the stairs, and I blinked to see a bloody and battered golden-haired girl move to bow to her trainer. "Aurelian…" Amereyna breathed, relieved tears glistening in her eyes. I murmured a healing spell over the girl, thanking the Light that I had not had to face whatever test she had in the chambers below us.

There was a hushed exchange between the master warlock and his trainee, and Aurelian stepped back. Mysterious light began to swirl around her as she raised her hand, mouth working silently in a newly learned incantation. A faint rumble issued from the space in front of her, and a cloud of smoke formed into a deep blue ghostly shape that the young warlock identified with muted wonder as "Ormmoth." She bowed once again to her trainer and turned triumphantly to Amereyna, who acknowledged the accomplishment with a nod and a barely restrained smile. "See, Mother, I told you I could do it."

"And I never doubted that you could." Giving the senior warlock one last frigid look, Amereyna turned with a faint rustle of robes and began walking up the stairs. Aurelian trailed a few steps behind, the voidwalker gliding along in her wake and giving all around it a threatening gaze with its strangely glowing eyes. Shivering a little, I followed this entourage silently in order to catch the exchange.

"But you were afraid, Mother, I know you were," the daughter insisted. "Afraid because I actually laid my life on the line, as opposed to the stale, sterile rituals you practice."

"Be hush, child, for you know not what you speak of," her mother grated. "I was worried, yes, but that is only because I know not what you do and I cannot say that I trust it. And you say there is no risk in my craft? Perhaps when you are ready you shall pay me a call in Theramore, and Lady Jaina can set you aright."

A sneer. "So is that all you came here to do, lecture me and give me threats? If that's all, I thank you for your concern, Mother, but I have things to do back in Goldshire."

"Well, I also came to introduce you to the newest member of the Knights." Having reached the grassy area in front of the tavern entrance, Amereyna turned and looked back at me. "Aurelian, meet Alliandra. She just completed the basic Paladin training at Northshire Abbey."

"Hail and well met, Aurelian," I said courteously and bowed, then was faintly nettled when the gesture was not returned. "I congratulate you on your achievement. I know I would not want to walk your path."

"Well met, Alliandra," the warlock muttered with a surprised blink. "And I congratulate you on beginning the path you now walk, for I likewise would not want to walk it. And at least your mother does not secretly disapprove of your every move. In fact, I'll bet your mother is proud of her little girl growing up to be a strong Paladin, now isn't she?" The sneer returned with these words, and the rage began to hiss in my ears like a quiet, steady whisper.

"My mother died in Darrowshire over ten years ago, and I would ask you kindly not to mention it further," I growled, trying my hardest to fight the anger back.

Aurelian raised an eyebrow. "I see. Then that beggars the question of how you survived in the first place, but I can tell by your reaction to my earlier words that it is not something your delicate self would care to recount. That said, I will bid both of you farewell and safe travels." Giving both of us a mocking curtsey, the girl stalked away, her minion following in her steps like a hired thug.

"_Bitch,"_ I muttered under my breath, drawing an alarmed look from Amereyna. "My apologies, but I do not know what I did to offend her."

"I have my own theories," the mage murmured, looking down at the grass. "But none of them are anything you need to hear. I think it best that we leave, don't you?"

-------

The next week passed in a blur as we made our way to Ironforge and beyond to Menethil Harbor through the Wetlands. Part of me wanted to spend days in the dwarven city, especially among the oddly fascinating gnomes and their strange inventions that accomplished ordinary tasks in the most unexpected way. It also startled me to see certain dwarves bearing a libram or blessed hammer of the Paladin, and I asked Amereyna about this. "Yes, certain members of the dwarvish race follow the Light as well. You seem surprised…"

Along the road there were close calls, including a brief skirmish with stragglers from the Blackrock orc clan as we passed through the tunnel of Dun Algaz to the Wetlands. Few of my blows ever connected, and if they did, they did negligible damage to what then seemed like an insurmountable foe. I could then only stand back and watch as Amereyna summoned forth hails of ice to strike them down, leaving an occasional sheep in her wake if the crowd seemed too large. The spiders and crocolisks we encountered in the swamp were to me then just as fearsome as the orcs, and I could only breathe a sigh of relief as we paused briefly to rest in the bayside town of Menethil.

From the dock it was but a brief boat ride to the other continent of Kalimdor and the village of Auberdine, where the residents regarded me calmly but not unkindly as they passed to get on the boat back to Menethil. "How close are we, if you don't mind me asking?" I mumbled to Amereyna as I dragged my tired feet across the pier to the ferry waiting to take us on yet another wing of our journey.

"Closer than you think," the mage replied with a smile, but I could tell that she was fatigued as well as she sat down on a crate to rest during the short trip. "I'm sorry I've rushed you, but Althyrra said that it was imperative that we get you to Darnassus as soon as possible. Why that is, I couldn't tell you – in all the years I've been alive, I have yet to figure out a night elf's true motives for anything. And trust me, I have had a long time to think it over."

I gathered from my impressions of night elves that Althyrra was not the standard specimen of her race, beginning from that day in Darnassus. Amereyna recalled that her guild mistress had spoken of a meeting with Fandral Staghelm and asked permission of his assistant Mathrengyl Bearwalker to wait in the anteroom under the Arch Druid's chamber. The druid granted this easily, casting minor healing and strengthening spells on us as well as offering us food and drink while we waited. "I take it she is not quite finished yet," Amereyna mused as she broke a chunk off of a piece of bread and chewed on it idly.

"No, not yet, and it appears she shall be in there some time yet," said Mathrengyl with an amused smile. "She has been in audience with the Arch Druid for a while, and from the aura of tension, I can sense that things are not going well."

"Excuse me, sir," I ventured, "may I ask what they are discussing?"

"Some matter pertaining to a vision that her mother Aelrajel had while walking in the Emerald Dream. Beyond that, I know not." The smile turned from amusement to ruefulness. "Sometimes I pity that girl, growing without proper guidance under the influence of foreigners while both of her parents sleep in the Dream." He blinked, then bowed in hasty apology. "I am sorry – I did not mean insult to either of you. It is just that there is a certain way that our people are supposed to act, and our dear Althyrra Fallenstar simply… does not."

A loud, deep rumble of a male voice could be heard drifting from above, as well as the raised protesting female voice on its heels. Even I could feel the angry energy, jangling my nerves in palpable emotion and causing my throat to tighten in fear. Amereyna's eyes widened as she too sensed it, and Mathrengyl frowned suddenly. There was a growl of dismissal, a farewell that reeked of mock courtesy, and terse footsteps on the ramp outside. Then Althyrra appeared in the doorway, face flushed with irritation and set into the terse lines of one fighting to hold her tongue. "What – a – _prick!_" she hissed to herself and gave Mathrengyl a harsh glare when he chastisingly cleared his throat. "With all due respect, brother Bearwalker, you did not hear that."

"Hear what, sister Fallenstar?" the druid asked with the same amused smile he had worn earlier, then added something in the elvish tongue with a quick glance in my direction. Althyrra whirled in startlement and blushed when she saw me staring at her and Amereyna grinning openly.

"You did not hear that either," the hunter said with a sheepish smile, adjusting a fold in the formal robes that she had donned in accordance with the gravity of the occasion. Looking back to Mathrengyl, she added, "I will have words with High Priestess Tyrande – this is one thing that the sons of Cenarius cannot keep a secret. That one" she gave an acid look to the ceiling above us "will drag us all to our graves, and I will not go without a fight."

"You cannot expect me to assist you and go against the bonds of the Circle," Mathrengyl murmured, "but I shall not hinder you. Go in peace, sister." The two exchanged farewell gestures, and Althyrra gestured for us to follow as she made her way down the stairs.

"I'm sorry that you had to sit through that," Althyrra continued, leading our group out of the Cenarion holdings towards the Tradesmen's Terrace where she had arranged temporary quarters. "Perhaps when we're out of this place I'll tell you just what that ill-tempered, illegitimate spawn of a furbolg had the intestinal fortitude to say to me."

"Was it that bad?" Amereyna wondered, raising an eyebrow that mirrored my own curiosity.

"It bears repeating, but I'll not say it now. These walls, as you humans say, have ears – and long ones at that." She brought us to a two-storied building and ascended to the top floor where she had set up residence. "And now it seems that I must petition for audience with Lady Tyrande. Unfortunately, I am ill-garbed for the occasion."

"I will make something worthy." Amereyna frowned as she thought for a minute or so. "It might be a bit costly and I don't know the full story behind this incident, but I won't have you be embarrassed."

The night elf nodded in thanks, pulling a simple tunic and trousers from her pack and crossing behind a screen to change. "It is good to see you two here at last – I have been curious to hear of your progress and accomplishments in person."

-------

Day turned to dusk and then to night as I sat in the company of Althyrra and Amereyna, listening to them trade stories and information. Part of me was numbed by the fatigue brought on by our long journey to Darnassus, but the rest was held captive to the feeling that I was in the company of two living legends and would not let me sleep. From time to time Amereyna would leave to perform some small errand or another, and it was then that I realized that I had also made the acquaintance of one of Azeroth's master tailors. Even though the clothing itself was made of earthly fabrics, the finished product seemed to draw from its surroundings as well as the personality of the creator.

Eventually, though, the day's events took their toll and I found myself drowsing off to the lull of the two voices. Not wanting to disrupt the mage from her stitchery, Althyrra led me off to one of the available beds and pulled a light blanket over me to block any night chill. And, for the most fleeting moment, I saw my mother smiling at me as she put me to bed the last night I saw her alive…

Fortune smiled on Althyrra the next morning. Clad in the masterfully sewn tunic that Amereyna had made the night before as well as some newly crafted leather leggings and boots of her own devising, the hunter strode off boldly for the Temple of the Moon, one chosen enchanted blade swinging from her belt as a marked reminder of her role as an adventurer. She returned two hours later, face glowing with restrained triumph. "There is justice in this city after all. Even though I am outcast of the Circle, Tyrande still allowed me audience and actually seemed to care!" A pause, then she murmured, "And now perhaps my parents will be safe from the madness."

This piqued my curiosity, and before I could restrain myself, I asked, "You mean this place is affected by the Plague also?"

Amereyna snapped her eyes reprovingly down at me, and Althyrra made a warding sign with her free hand as she carefully unbuttoned her tunic. "Great Mother, no, at least not the Plague you speak of. It is just as evil, although crawlingly so, creeping in like a fiend from the woods and turning our allies in nature against us." Off came the tunic, carefully folded and set aside. The pants and boots came next as the elf continued. "At least, that's what I've made of it. Damn if I know exactly what it is." From behind a screen, Althyrra retrieved a set of silver scale leg-guards and eased them on, following them with the lightest set of mail boots. "And my mother has seen the madness while she walked in the Dream with my father. She returned to warn us of its progress while my father remained to investigate further."

Next she donned a tunic made of intricately woven black scales that hugged the curves of her torso in a dark caress. With assistance from Amereyna, Althyrra secured a pair of massive spiked shoulder pads that seemed to be wrought of the same scales as the tunic. Delicately engraved bracers encased her wrists, a golden belt adorned with aqua-green stones cinched her blades to her waist, and the fine contours of her hands and lower arms were soon lost in the bulky shapes of her thick gloves. A simple golden headband was placed with the care of a coronet, with a long cloak providing protection over her back. My awe of the living legend was soon curtailed by her voice bringing me back to the present…

"Both my father Altyrron Starstrider and my mother Aelrajel Starspeaker are druids of good standing among the followers of Cenarius. Their words would be trusted by any among the Circle, but that daft bastard Staghelm – Elune save us _all_ from him – refuses to believe them because their offspring refused Cenarius' call. My sister Adrielyse at least stayed within the grace of Elune as one of Her priestesses, but I in whom the calling was strongest refused it. Hell, my parents thought originally that I was going to be a boy and later a strong druid in the steps of my father, but I have disappointed them on both counts. A nondescript tomboy who likes beer and explosives who would much rather tame the beast than become one!" She gave me a dark glare that made me shiver. "I do not envy you your upbringing, but at least you are not shunned for not being who you were expected to be."

A quiver full of arrows was next cinched in place, partnered with a masterfully-crafted crossbow that I was allowed only a brief glimpse of before the hunter assimilated it into the folds and creases of her armor. "That's why I was given the surname Fallenstar, and the more honorable name of Starhand given to my sister. That's also why my sister remains safe, and why I let myself be prey to the sick games of the Arch Druid. I'd sooner have him scar me than touch her, and _I will die_ before he can breathe the word to kill my parents as I know he would if they let their findings free." Althyrra stretched and let her armor settle into its usual comfortable fit, and as she twisted in the early light I could see the livid marks of bruises and cuts appear here and there on her pale skin.

"But won't you let a priest heal you? Surely those would be easy work," I mumbled, stunned at her admissions which had upended my pristine, albeit brief, first impression of the night elf race.

"The scars of my battles with the outside world and enemies there don't mean anything to me, and I won't bear them if I don't have to. What you see here – these are marks of my own inner battles as well as the branding of my destiny. If I'm going to be a scapegoat, then I'll be a scapegoat, but I won't bear my family's wounds quietly." She sighed, shook her head slowly in silent self-reprimand. "I've spilled my guts to someone who didn't need to hear, and I'm sorry. I didn't call you here to listen to my sad story, but instead at my mother's request. She asked specifically for you, little sister, and though I have no clue why I will take you to her."

"No insult, Althy, but Moonglade makes me nervous. If you don't mind, I'll stay here," Amereyna interjected.

"Return with us to Auberdine and wait there. I'm sure your services may be found useful." The mage nodded in agreement with this answer, and we set out as a group for the portal that would start us on our return trip to the mainland.

-------

Filled as it was with magic and otherworldly essences, the air filling the druidic sanctuary of Moonglade hung heavy in almost damp stillness, and I could sense why this would make Amereyna nervous with her sensitivity to arcane wavelengths. The sentinels that seemed to watch from almost every vantage were as strong and silent as the trees pushing at the sky of the glade, but no sooner had we reached a graceful outbuilding overlooking the lake than we were greeted with a happy exclamation. An elvish woman, her deep blue hair spilling loosely over the drapes of her simple blue-green robe, met us at the door with a generous smile for both of us as well as a brief embrace for Althyrra. "This is my mother, who I have mentioned before," Althyrra added with a smile that was a quiet shadow of the other woman's.

The older elf bowed graciously to me. "Greetings. I am Aelrajel – and you must be Alliandra. A bit younger than I expected you to be, which I know does not make sense, but once I sit down and explain to you why I have called you, it might. You might not like it, but it will at least seem clearer. Come along, come along…" She drifted off in the easy manner of a spring breeze, leaving me to blink a few times in amazement and look up at Althyrra for explanation. I barely caught her mouthing the words _She's always like this_ before Aelrajel made a faintly disapproving comment about our delay.

We were seated in a spare but accommodating living area by our hostess, who plied us with fresh tea before seating herself. "I will begin by apologizing for calling you here in such a hurry, because I do not know when I will be called upon to re-enter the Dream to find out more about what I have seen… or even if I shall return once I do." Aelrajel trembled slightly as if touched by an ill wind, then composed herself once more. "I am sure Althyrra has told you of what greeted me when I last walked in the Emerald Dream – the likely end of our race as we know it, if we do not act now to thwart the corruption that is eating us slowly – but I also wish you to know that I specifically saw _you._ I will not taint what is to be by filling in the whole tale, but I will only tell you to be strong and keep your faith no matter what befalls you, because much will.

"You have the untold chance of a lifetime to avenge the wrong of your childhood, Alliandra, as well as the potential to lead a kingdom that you will rebuild from its ashes at its head as well as its heart. Also will come a time when you must decide between the lessons of your teachers and the voice of your heart, and you will be sorely tested." The druid took a deep breath and let it out slowly again, then allowed her former smile to return. "There is one last piece of advice I can give you, and that is this - " she reached out and rapped me lightly on my scalp with the knuckles of one hand " – watch your head."

Conversation soon returned to normal, at least for a moment, until Aelrajel caught sight of the same marks of struggle that I had. Her eyes narrowed under a cloud of anger and she hissed something in Darnassian at her daughter. Althyrra gave me an apologetic look and replied to her mother in a murmur. Even though I could not understand their words, I could sense the tone of the conversation rising and falling like a bitter tide, and I could only guess that Althyrra was telling her mother the same things that she had told me. Then there was a silence, with Aelrajel sitting in stony rage, fists clenched on her knees as if somehow that could hold in her emotions.

Finally Aelrajel posed a phrase in a strange tone, ringing of resigned emptiness but with the spectral dragons of hatred lurking in its shadows. This caused Althyrra to flinch like she had been slapped hard across the face, jolting her back into Common speech. "Elune protect, Mother, what kind of question is that?"

"An honest one, Althyrra," the druid responded in the same tone, eyeing the hunter with a chimeric stare. "Do you enjoy it?"

"_No_," Althyrra answered firmly, nostrils flaring slightly in affronted dignity. "And I will do my best to ignore the implication that I do." She paused and then changed the subject with the air of a hen smoothing ruffled feathers. "How fares Father?"

"He sleeps," Aelrajel replied, shrugging. "I do not know how long he will remain so, but we shall see, hm?"

I chose this time to interject a question that had been forming in my mind since learning of the situation involving Althyrra and her family. "Pardon me for asking, ma'am, but how safe is he while he's asleep?"

Aelrajel gave me a curious look. "As safe as any druid can be while in the Dream. He's watched carefully, if that's what you're asking."

"Well, ma'am, might I suggest something?" I offered, and the druid nodded. "I would watch him yourself when you can, and keep your own guard up as well. If I am to understand what Althyrra has told me so far, neither you nor your husband are safe any more now that the Arch Druid has heard what you have seen."

Althyrra's mother sighed deeply. "Aye, I would suppose you are right. I knew that my message would cause an uproar, but I never thought that Staghelm would go so far to silence it." She shook her head, then smiled brightly at her daughter. "Althyrra, guard this one and raise her well. She just might have the brains we need to make a difference in this crazy world."

Relieved to be on a safer subject, Althyrra returned Aelrajel's smile cautiously. "I will, Mother."

"Well, if that is all, then I shall let you two get back to whatever important things have been waiting your attention."

We exchanged farewells with the druid and then left the quiet, magical darkness of Moonglade for the outside world where Amereyna met us, as promised, in the fishing village of Auberdine. "So, did your meeting with your mother go well?" she asked as we walked to the ferry that would take us back to Menethil.

"As well as expected," said Althyrra to the mage in a tone that suggested the matter be considered 'closed.' Amereyna blinked, then continued matter-of-factly, "Well, now that we're done in these parts, I need to go back to Ironforge to place a few things up for bid in the Auction House. Do either of you need anything there?"

"I've been wanting to do some shopping for a while," the huntress replied. "Besides," she added, giving me a light pat on the shoulder, "I'd bet it's been a while since you had any new equipment."

"That's a wager you'd win easily," I told her, laughing. "Can we visit the gnomes while we're in Ironforge? I want to ask them about some of their machines."

Amereyna rolled her eyes. "Uh-oh. Did you hear that, Althy? It sounds like we've got ourselves another engineer on our hands."

"Good, she can make me ammunition for my guns." Althyrra shrugged. "And you never know when an explosive sheep or a goblin land mine might come in handy."

I was enraptured. "They make explosive sheep too? That's neat!"

The mage gave the hunter a withering look. "You see what you've done? You've gotten her all fired up." The night elf's response was limited to a tiny smile as the ferry pulled up to the dock, disgorging its latest batch of passengers and waiting patiently for any newcomers.


	5. Alli in Wonderland

**Four**  
_Alli in Wonderland_

The flight from Menethil Harbor to Ironforge has never ceased to amaze me, with the abrupt transition from the marshy Wetlands to the daunting white peaks of Dun Morogh, the powerful wings of the gryphon effortlessly bringing you up to the level of the birds where all is reduced to stunning miniature, as if in a child's diorama. Then, just as the chill of the high alpine air begins to sting any exposed skin – and, being a female paladin, I could tell you a thing or two about exposed skin – the griff begins its descent into the valley that houses the aerial entrance to Ironforge, and then you are pulled into the city at the heart of the mountain that is also the heart of the dwarven race.

The first thing that hits you is the heat of the Great Forge, a cascading flow of molten metal that forms the lifeblood of the city just outside the chambers of King Magni Bronzebeard. Once you hop off of your gryphon, though, the next thing that hits you is the sheer mass of personal energy from each denizen present. Be they permanent resident or traveling adventurer, there are thousands in the cavernous realm of Ironforge at any time, forming or breaking alliances, selling their services, running errands, making deposits or withdrawals at the Bank, purchasing or selling items through the Auction House, or simply hanging around and enjoying the atmosphere of kindred spirits.

Bidding us a brief farewell, Amereyna disappeared into the milling throng of people with a promise that we would meet again, leaving me standing in Althyrra's shadow and not quite really sure what to do now that I had finally arrived. I stared around at the kaleidoscope of souls around me, awed and a little scared, and in such state I did not hear what the night elf said to me as she nudged me away from the cluster of people at the griffin platform. I looked up at her puzzledly, and Althyrra grinned. "I said it's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"Aye," I replied. "So where are we going?"

"We're going to check out the Auction House to see what we can get for you in the way of armor, and then we're going to set you up with the gnomes to see what they can teach you about engineering." The huntress steered me by means of light taps on the shoulder every now and then, leading us through a small side passage into another large chamber, even more tightly packed than the area around the Forge, if such a thing could be possible. "Then after that, we're going to sit ourselves down and have a bite to eat and a beer or two. For all their talk about being attuned with nature, Darnassian folk have utterly jack squat in the way of alcohol and, the last time I checked, there's nothing unnatural about a mug of cold'n'frosty goodness. Am I right, Alli, or am I right?"

I shook my head in rueful amazement at this decidedly non-standard night elf. "Well, ma'am, I would be hard pressed to disagree."

A scornful look at this. "Great Mother, Alli, call me Alt, Alth, or Althy like everyone else does. 'Ma'am' just makes me feel older."

I nodded in quiet acknowledgment of this as I was guided through this larger room by Althy, who pointed out the Bank as we passed it. She led me across a bridge that spanned over a large pit, and when I inquired as to the reason for the pit's placement, the night elf shrugged. "Uhm… a moat? … a garbage pit? … a flower bed…? Damn if I know why it's there, but you don't want to fall into it. It won't kill you, but it hurts like hell. I should know, I've done it before." I accepted this explanation at face value, following Althy as she bounded up the steps into a small, packed area that she identified as the Auction House. "Here you can find just about anything, and I mean _anything,_ that people are willing to sell to make a copper. So, if you get tired of trying to find an item yourself you can look here, but be ready to pay out the nose. People are a bunch of friggen' scalpers in these parts." Ignoring venomous looks and protesting noises, Althy then wedged her way into a crowd at the foot of one of the three auctioneers' pedestals. "And don't be afraid to be pushy," she called back over her shoulder. "Sometimes that's the only way to get what you want."

Pushing aside my scruples – as well as a few gnomes, I think – I shoved through until I was next to the night elf so that I could watch what she was doing. She gave careful consideration to the auction catalog, occasionally glancing down at me to see what I was wearing before making a decision. "Is that all they had at the Abbey?" Althy grumbled, giving my armor a critical look that, if I read it right, was tinged with disgust. I nodded, and she rolled her eyes. "We paid them more than well enough, and they outfit you in that crap. Go figure." Making a few selections, she shouted them up to the auctioneer and handed over the appropriate sum of money. "We'll go and pick all of this stuff up at the mailbox once we're done. What kind of weaponry did they train you in?"

"Just about everything, ma – Althy," I answered, peering around her at the auction catalog. "Everything except ranged weaponry."

A sigh and smile from the huntress. "All right, then, I guess the question should have been what weaponry you prefer to use."

"Hmm." I thought back to my training in the Abbey, and even further back to the Monastery. "Can I get a mace?"

"You sure about that? A sword can do damage faster than a mace."

"I know that, but…" It was my turn to sigh. "There's just something satisfying about swinging that club and watching whatever you hit just go to smithereens…"

Althyrra chuckled at the wistful expression on my face. "Dear me, you are a different one, that's for sure. I wouldn't know, since I've never been able to use maces." She saw my questioning look and shrugged again. "Once again, damn if I know why. Might be a hunter thing, I guess, because Mat can't use them either." She leafed through the catalog, wincing at the various inflated prices. "One-handed or two-handed?"

"Two," I answered all too quickly, provoking the grin from the huntress again. "One-handed might afford you the use of a shield, but I'm all about the damage."

"Elune protect me from you when you're older and stronger," Althyrra murmured, going over the two-handed mace listing until she found one that was useful and agreeable. "Here we go." She once again completed her transactions with the auctioneer and made her way back out of the mob, I choosing to take advantage of the brief gap in her wake to follow her. Once we were outside of the Auction House, we took a left turn and walked along the ditch to a mailbox that stood next to a doorway marked as the inn. "This mailbox is easier to get to than the one by the bank. Always a huge crowd over there." She tilted her head in the direction of the bank, and I followed her direction to see yet another large cluster of people. After waiting her turn in the smaller line, Althyrra withdrew a series of items from the mailbox, one of which I was surprised to see being a long-handled mace that was bigger than the mailbox from which it came. "Area of effect spell. Once again, I choose not to ask how it works." She handed some of the items to me and said, "Why don't you go on upstairs in the inn and get changed while I get us some food."

It sounded like a good idea to me, so I followed the elf into the inn and went up the flight of stairs that she'd indicated. Fortunately there was no one else in the small room at the top of the stairs, and I quickly unwrapped the items and began to put them on. Althyrra appeared a few moments later, bearing a tray stacked with various foodstuffs which she put on the table nearby. She paused to view my progress and raised an eyebrow at the armor's appearance; I blushed and tried to appear absorbed in the securing of my cloak to my shoulders. "It looks a little… drafty," she mused with a faint touch of amusement in her voice.

"A little?" I repeated, noticing that the cloak barely fell past my waist. "How do you expect me to go outside in this stuff?" A brief tug on the mid-thigh length leg guards did nothing to increase their coverage, and being as my lower body armor was little more than leg plates, knee-high boots, and a glorified chastity belt, I felt horridly exposed.

"Hey, I've seen worse," Althyrra commented offhandedly. "And I can only tell you, it does not get better as you go along." Noticing my lack of reassurance, she added, "At least it's not like some of the stuff I've worn. No matter what I wear, it makes me look like little more than a whore in mail armor." On this note, she went back down the stairs again, reappearing after some interval with two large mugs. "Food is here," she said, setting the mugs down and then seating herself in a chair before digging into the meat she'd brought up on the platter. "Come on, eat up. I'm sure you're hungry, and whatever we don't eat goes to that furry stomach-on-legs I call my pet."

Giving myself one last look-over and sighing in resignation, I settled down into the chair opposite Althyrra and began picking at one of what looked to be a roasted bird. "So how much did what you're wearing cost?"

"The leggings, well, more than you want to hear about. I'm going to replace them as soon as I get the cash. As for the gloves, well, they're a gift… and so's the chestplate, the shoulders, and the belt." Althyrra took one of the mugs in hand and took a deep draught of whatever was inside. "Ahh, that's the stuff. I'll wager you couldn't find any beer as good as this in all of Teldrassil."

At this unspoken prompt, I hefted my mug and – choosing not to examine the contents too closely – took a cautious sip. A sharp twang of yeast immediately overwhelmed my senses along with other substances I couldn't identify at the moment, and I coughed a few times to try and steady myself. "That's a wager you would win, Althy," I muttered, wiping tears from my eyes.

"But you don't go sipping it like a bird, you see," the elf was saying as she continued her meal. "You just take a slug and let it wallop you silly, and then anything afterwards won't bother you." She chewed and swallowed a mouthful of roast bird, then grinned mischievously. "Don't tell me those people in Tirisfal didn't let you have good ol' dwarven stout every now and then."

"No, they didn't," I answered coldly, resentful of this sudden broaching of my past. "We were expected to be fueled by the Light and the righteousness of our cause, not fermented spirits."

"I see." The elf paused to pick a sliver of meat out from between her teeth, letting the subject rest for a moment before thoughtfully adding, "But sometimes when there is no Light for you to see by and all righteousness is lost, you need all the artificial comfort you can get. I speak from years of experience." In the seconds that followed, the shadows seemed to fall a different way across the immaculate blue surface of Althyrra's face, and in that tiny window of time she seemed infinitely aged and very tired. It seemed to me that I too had spoken of something unmentionable, and I took that chance to change the subject.

"So… you said all of that armor was just _given_ to you? By who?"

"A few well-meaning and generous gentlemen," said Althyrra with a smirk that returned her face to its normal cast. "I have learned not to say no when such things are given… even my first riding cat was a gift to me by a gentleman friend." At my curious eyebrow lift, she continued, "The belt is called the Cord of Elements, from a gnome mage named Prock. These Stonerender Gauntlets are a gift from Matoc." She held her hands up, encased in the massive gloves I'd seen before. "The chestplate and shoulders were wrought from black dragonscales, also by Matoc." Althyrra let out a small amused snort. "Come to think of it, the one who gave me the cat was a gnome also. What attraction do I hold for gnomes and dwarves?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," I replied with a mirroring smirk.

When the meal was over, three birds remained. I had since worked up the courage to finish up the dwarven stout in my mug and consequently found it slightly difficult to stand. "Well, looks like Pie gets a little snack after all." Althyrra gave a soft call that I immediately remembered from our first encounter at the Monastery, and could not repress a tremble as a giant silver wolf melted in from the shadows and trotted over to the table. "You remember Alliandra, don't you, Pie?" Althyrra murmured to the wolf, lovingly scratching it behind the ears. "Go and say hello. She's a friend." The wolf turned to face me, looking at me calmly with unblinking golden eyes before moving closer and nudging me gently on the knee with its nose. "He likes it when you scratch his ears," Althyrra suggested to me. "He won't bite you."

"…If you say so," I ventured, reaching a hand down in the same gesture I had seen the huntress make.

-------

We parted ways soon afterward, Althyrra leaving me a generous allowance of coin to use as I saw fit for supplies and training as well as an admonishment not to get myself into too much trouble. I had no problem in agreeing with this, resolving to use the money well in order to advance my skills so that I would not be so vulnerable in this strange world that I'd been pulled into. Mind abuzz both from the remnants of the beer and awe of the living example of dwarven craftsmanship that was Ironforge, I left the inn where we had broken our fast and meandered across the city – narrowly avoiding a nasty fall into the ditch that Althy had pointed out earlier – past the din of the Auction House, through the Military Ward, and into a corridor filled with strange mechanical devices and the smaller denizens of the city, the Gnomeregan Exiles.

Not knowing where to turn next, I closed my eyes and sighed in exasperation. The scent of blasting powder wandered by my nose, closely mingling with the tang of ozone from concentrated electric discharge, and my heart leaped in joy. As eccentric and impractical as the notion was, I knew that I'd found my true calling in the craft of these odd folk and had no clue that each copper I paid in training would later repay itself in blood. Those same aromas of explosives and ozone would soon become my signature, as expensive as any perfume employed by the nobles of Stormwind and in my experience far more worthwhile.

In retrospect, I thank the Light for the healing skills I'd learned as a Paladin, for they served me well during that time of growth and learning. I took both divine-given skills and dynamite out with me as I worked my way through the tasks set for me in Goldshire and beyond, using the latter to tide me through when the former failed and earning many a startled look when I would use a grenade to fell a scurrying enemy. In my desire to improve my day-to-day life via cunning and curious invention, I rapidly learned that it would be best to stick to tried-and-true formulae until my knowledge of Engineering reached its pinnacle. The armor-polishing bot claimed the tip of my left little finger, and the Herb-O-Matic Flower Picker – while pure genius in principle – had trouble distinguishing between its intended targets and small children or gnomes and has been gathering dust on the shelf ever since. I know there's money to be had in it, but I'll get back to it when I have the chance.

I won't bore you further with the banal tales of my apprenticeship; odds are you've heard millions like them elsewhere and would sooner be hit with a Death Ray than listen to them again. It won't do you any good to press me for details, either, because to be brutally honest I've forgotten much of that part of my life. I turned the turf red with the blood of Defias – especially satisfying after my early scare in the woods of the Abbey – and cleaned gnoll spit from my mace with the beasts' own foul rags; I soon learned how to pile the bodies of my enemies like tinder by channeling my focus down the path of divine retribution at the cost of my healing and protective abilities. I gained the use of heavier armor as well as my own warsteed, extending my reach from the steamy jungles of Stranglethorn to the dust-choked plains of Desolace, setting the ground alight with holy fire and cutting down any foe that dared challenge me with the punishing hand of my trademark mace. I thought myself well and truly independent of my grisly roots, but an encounter at Nijel's Point was soon to prove me wrong.

-------

I would start the recounting of this day with a tired and shopworn cliche - "It was a dark and stormy night" - but that would only be half correct. To be truthful, it was a dark and stormy day that found me at Nijel's Point, tired and soaking wet after a day's worth of hard work with two of my comrades. I'd met the druid Alynde through Althyrra, her "aunt," and the mage Lesalaniia was sent my way on recommendation from Amereyna who'd finished her instruction in Theramore and now taught others in the ways of the arcane. Both ladies shared a pale, ghostlike complexion, but that was about the only thing they had in common; otherwise they argued whenever they got the chance and I often found myself in the unlikely role of mediator. Irritable interactions aside, Alynde and Lesli - as we'd come to call the Draenei simply because it was easier to say - had become trustworthy and irreplaceable traveling companions, both for their support in combat and the companionship they provided otherwise. We'd spent the past month in Desolace, clearing the wastes of centaur and satyr and whatever other creatures our employers deemed worthwhile to kill, and on this gloomy day we'd finally received word of a new job posting.

"I swear you bring the bad weather with you, Lesli," Alynde had grumbled, shaking the rain from her white hair and giving our Draenei companion a dark look. "What all has Amereyna been teaching you in that ivory tower?"

"She teaches me in the ways of ice and frost, _not _rain. If there's anyone to be blamed for the precipitation, o Daughter of Cenarius," Lesalaniia retorted crisply, "it's you. Are you sure you've made the appropriate offerings to your nature spirits, or whatever it is you do?"

"Enough already," I cut in, giving my armor a quick rubdown to get rid of the excess moisture. "Just let me talk to this guy and then we can all head back to Ironforge for some good old rest and relaxation. It is my birthday, after all."_ Or as close as I can remember,_ I added grimly.

"It is?" Alynde raised an eyebrow dubiously. "I thought it was three months ago. Or at least that's what Aunt Althy told me..." I shook my head, and she shrugged. "Oh well. Why don't we go back to my apartment in Darnassus? I'm sure I can throw something festive together."

"No," said Lesli firmly. "We'll go back to my family at the Exodar and have my mother sing for you."

"And we all know that you Draenei are such party people," our druid retorted, sneering at Lesli. "You see pink elephants even when you're sober."

"What are you talking about? I ride on one," the mage returned with a dismissive hand gesture.

"Case in point." Alynde turned to me with a triumphant smirk. "Darnassus?"

"Ironforge. Now a little bit of hush, please?" Rolling my eyes, I brushed past the mage and druid and made my way up the ramp that led to the middle level of the inn. A solitary figure stood there, back to me as he looked out over the small haven that the Alliance had carved for itself in the aptly named land of Desolace. "Excuse me, sir, but I've heard tell that you have a task for those willing and brave enough to undertake it."

"Yes, as a matter of fact." The man turned to look at me, and in that instance I thanked the Light for the concealing hood of my cloak that had protected me from the rain outdoors and now shadowed my identity from view. Even in the dim light I recognized the red flame on his tabard that stood out like a bloody flower against the snow-white backdrop of the garment, coordinating neatly with the tones of his robe. "My name is Brother Anton, and I represent the Scarlet Crusade."


End file.
